


Just Listen

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: It was for Jon’s safety. Clark just wished they all could understand that - Jon included.





	Just Listen

**Author's Note:**

> Even Lois disagrees with Clark, but is a little nicer about it. Jon and Damian could be platonic or romantic, it’s up to the reader. They’re both midteens here I guess. Based on Clark’s RIDICULOUS reasoning against Damian in Super Sons #12. This is more self-indulgent than anything. Sorry I suck at writing haha.

Despite the recent animosity, Clark didn’t call, or ask to be let in. Just walked into the cave, like he always used to.

“Is he here?” He asked immediately, with as little emotion as he could muster.

“How would I know?” Bruce snapped back, without looking away from his computer. He’d heard Clark arrive, obviously. “But let me guess. You’re going to blame _my_ son because you can’t keep tabs on _yours_.“

“Oh come off it.” Clark drawled. “If you’d just _think_ about it, and look at the evidence Tim Drake left us, you’ll see I’m right. That _he_ was right.”

“You’d see a _possibility_ he could _one day_ be right. But today he isn’t. Today, you’re just siding with a would-be murderer against a _child_ who just risked his life and team and everything he _had_ to protect your son.” Bruce spat, ready to fight, as he always was. “And that’s not justice. That’s not...I don’t even know what to fucking call that.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re his father.” Clark sighed, rolling his eyes.  This is all he and Bruce did anymore, when they saw each other. He’d hoped to avoid it this time, or at least put it off to… _not_ the first two minutes they were in close proximity. “You’re saying that like you didn’t once think Damian was going to destroy the world yourself.”

“And I was wrong to think that.” Bruce countered, finally spinning around. “I was _wrong_ to think that, and I’m working to be forgiven for that mistake every day of my life.”

Clark just clicked his tongue and shook his head with a bitter laugh. “Bruce, is Jon here?”

“I don’t know.” Bruce huffed. “If he is, he came through the manor, not the cave. And if he is, it’s because he _came_ here. Damian has been home all day, painting.”

“Yeah, _sure_.” Clark drawled.

“Want to run that by me again?” Bruce barked, standing. “Are you implying I wouldn’t know if my son snuck out today? That I wouldn’t know where my son - who is recovering from injuries that include a broken fucking _leg_ \- is?”

“...I’m sorry to hear that.” Clark mumbled. “How’s he doing?”

“Like you care.” Bruce snorted, looking back to his computer. “You probably think he deserved it or something.”

“That’s not…” But Clark didn’t finish the thought, just exhaled again instead. “Whatever. I’m just going to go get Jon and-”

“You aren’t welcome in my home anymore, Superman.” Bruce countered, plopping back into his chair. “So if you go near that door, you’ll give me no choice but to get the Kryptonite.”

Clark froze, mouth open in almost shock. “You’re _kidding_.”

“No. My children’s safety is the most important thing to me, and I will do _anything_ to protect them.” Bruce glanced coolly back at him. “And with your current opinion, I can’t help but imagine what you’d do to Damian if you were allowed near him.”

Clark’s lips twisted to curse, but Bruce didn’t let him.

“Now, like I said, I don’t _know_ if Jonathan is here or not. If you’d like to call him, I’ll allow you to use the phone over there.” Bruce waved to the far corner of the console.

“…Can you just check your security cameras?” And just because he was bitter: “Or is even seeing him on a damn _screen_ too close?”

Bruce didn’t rise to the bait. Just thoughtfully tilted his head. “I suppose we can do that.”

He hit a few buttons, and a few black and white images popped up on the monitors. Bruce silently glanced between them, looking for any sign of life. Most of the screens were empty, including Damian’s bedroom, where his easel sat at the ready, a piece half done waiting for its creator.

But then Clark stepped back towards him, and pointed. “There.”

They were in the home theater, on the sofa that wrapped around three of four walls. Snacks, drinks and junk food littered the floor and table in front of them, along with their pets – Titus, Alfred, and somewhat unsurprisingly, Krypto -  lounging around them on the cushions.

There was a textbook open on Jon’s lap, and papers mixed in with the food on the table. Jon wasn’t in uniform, just jeans, t-shirt with an unbuttoned flannel, and glasses. Damian was in a similar state, sweatpants and a hoodie, cast encasing his right leg, crutches discarded on another corner of the couch. He had a pencil behind his ear, a pen in his hand, and a packet of papers on his legs.

They were leaning against each other. Jon’s head pillowed on Damian’s shoulder, Damian slumped against him in return. Both absolutely and unequivocally asleep.

“Guess he needed some help with his homework.” Clark murmured. “Midterms are coming, I think. Teachers have them writing essays and finishing study guides and all that.”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted, turning back to the case he was working on. “Guess only your future murderer can help you with something as mundane as that.”

Clark frowned and looked away from the screen. “Bruce-”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.” Bruce spat. “It’s just a shame that your teenage son is so much smarter than you these days.” A pause to type something into his computer. “When he’s finished studying, I’ll have Dick bring him home.”

And Clark knew that was as far as this could go without resorting to some sort of violence on either of their parts. Had to face the fact that despite his own feelings – Jon did come here by his own power. He chose to continue his friendship with Damian by his own freewill.

(Didn’t think about all the times Jon screamed in his face about it. About all the times Jon told him he was wrong, got so frustrated and defensive that he claimed he _hated_ him. How many doors were slammed in his face. How many times Jon had already snuck away to Wayne Manor. How many times he heard Damian’s heartbeat in his own home while he was away on League business.)

There was no crime here. There was no danger. Just a teenager hanging out with a friend his father didn’t approve of.

“…I’d appreciate that, Bruce. Thank you.”

Bruce grunted again as Clark turned and moved away. He was almost to the exit when Batman spoke again.

“You’re wrong, Clark.” Bruce whispered, and it was so heartbroken. So tired. “You’re so, so _wrong_.” A sigh. “Jon and I just wish you’d _listen_.”

Clark stopped and turned back, just a little. Just enough to see the security footage still up on the computer screen. The boys sleeping serenely. Jon’s glasses askew, Damian’s relaxed shoulders.

To anyone else, it’d be the perfect scene. A parent’s dream. Innocence, personified. To Clark, it created nothing but worry. He could only see Jon screaming in pain – physical and emotional. He could only see Damian in a cowl, causing it.

He turned back and resumed his retreat.

“I wish you all would too.”


End file.
